Greater than a Goddess
by fidelis5588
Summary: An alternate Universe fic where The Undertaker is a great lord, and his house and possessions have been destroyed. Not to mention his wife Sara is killed. And nothing in heaven or hell will stop him from getting her back. Read and Review! FINISHED! REPOST


**_Well, It took a bloody long time, but here it is. It's finished. I decided to just repost the completed story, in place of all those chapters streched out. I hope Y'all like it._**

_**Title- Greater than a Goddess**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the WWE, the Undertaker, or Sara, his wife.. Neither do I own Kane, or Matt Hardy. (though i wouldn't mind owning 'Taker...yum) So don't sue me, 'cause i ain't making no money off of this, and i ain't got no money to give you anyways.**_

_**Author's Notes: This is my third fan-fic, and my first try at AU. I hope you guys like, read and review please! This is a work in progress, so i will be updating quite frequently. Don't forget to check back. And yeah, i tweaked the names, but you can still tell who they are. I'd like to thank a certain person from for keeping me motivated with this story; You know who you are.**_

**_You all are going to have to just shut up and pretend Matt Hardy has green eyes. I need it for the story, and he's got that cute innocent vibe going on. I just had to use him._**

**_If you'd like to Archive this story, i'd be thrilled! Just email me first, give me the link to the site, and I'll take a look around. Ask and you shall receive._**

"Markus! Markus!" A soft, fear-filled voice awakened the red-haired man from his peaceful slumber. Sarai was struggling to wake him up, but he just mumbled and pulled her back against him, wanting to go back to sleep. She smacked him gently on the cheek, whispering. "Markus please . . . I'm scared." That got him up. Releasing his wife, he sat up in the bed and squinted at her. "What's wrong baby?"

"I...I heard something. Someone's in the great hall."

"Is that all? It's probably just Xerces, chasing the cats."

"No, I heard a voice. Go check it out, please Markus."

"Alright," he sighed, fighting his way out from the tangled mass of silk sheets and struggling to walk straight as he made his way in the darkness around his rich home. A normal man would have grabbed his sword or his dagger, but Marcus was not a normal man. He was a warrior, and a Hittite, a man whose race ruled the lands and the peoples around. He was a rich and powerful lord, and no one would dare to stand against him. And, at 6 foot ten, and almost 300 hundred pounds, he had nothing to fear from some young rascal looking to get rich off of a midnight heist. Catching up a flickering torch off the wall, he quickly walked through the hall, boredly looking about.

"I told her there was nothing here . . . "

But there was. Behind him, a shadow moved, and just to his right as well. Suddenly, he could hear the pitter-patter of many footsteps, the whisperings of men. And just visible in the moonlight, the flicker of swords. Marcus's green eyes widened and then narrowed as he realized his predicament. Sarai had been right, there was someone in the great hall; but it was more than just a thief. These were strong soldiers, and they were here for the Hittite's. There had been rumors in the land, that the men of the south were uprising, but he hadn't believed it. Now, his worst fears were coming to pass. At least fifteen men made a circle around him, jeering and waving their weapons.

"What now, mighty lord?" One spat; other insults followed.

"Not so great, when your slaves are dead now are you?"

"Where are your gods now?"

Several more cruel remarks were thrown at him, but he just narrowed his eyes, and balled his fists. He had fought in the great battle of the Canaanite's, and won great honor. Great fear, but great honor. Tight situations and impending doom were nothing new to him. Swinging his torch in front of him, he made them jump back. He took a swing, leveling the first man. The next one didn't go down so easily. This Southurn swung at Markus with his sword, and Markus jumped back, before hitting him with a flurry of punches so fast it drove him to the ground in seconds. But then the men surged forward all at once. He tried to keep his ground, thrusting the burning torch in one man's face, and dealing out more devastating blows. But he felt a sharp stabbing pain in his side, and then in his legs, and knew he'd been wounded. He fell to his knees, shielding his face with his large hands. Someone cracked him over the head with the pommel of their sword, and that was it. He fell back, and did not get up.

The Southurn's milled around in the great hall, looting, and chasing after any slaves that'd escaped them already. Blood flowed freely in the house of Markus Calaway that night. Both man and beast were slaughtered. Sarai could hear them coming closer and closer to her chambers, and hiding under the bed, clutched her little dagger that Markus had given her as a present. They knocked the door off it's hinges, and piled into the room, knocking over the alabaster pillars, and tearing her silk curtains. She whimpered, and a few of them men saw her. Pulling her out by her long dark hair, they slit her throat on the spot. Cackling with glee, they grabbed what they found to be costly, and set fire to the rest of their extensive home and lands on their ay out to the next home. Sarai lay on the cold stone floor, her white gown turning red with her own blood.

Markus awoke what seemed like hours later. He opened his fiery green eyes, and tried to stand. Something held him back though. As he took in his surroundings, he found his hands and feet were tied with a rough rope that cut into his flesh. He managed to sit up, and pain lanced through his abdomen, and upper legs. Maneuvering around he pressed his hands to where the pain was, and they came up bloody. He shrugged. There was nothing he could do about that for the moment. Just across the room, he saw a young southern; probably only in his late teens, and an older one, most likely there to keep the youth in line. But the boy didn't look Southern. He had the same black hair as they did, but he had the fiery green eyes of a true Hittite warrior. Markus paid no attention to him early on, not real noticing the color of his eyes. He only glared as they noticed he was awake. The raven-haired boy looked up once, then put his head down shyly and continued his work at cleaning the swords. Another man entered the room, this one appearing to be in his prime. Markus knew right away; He was Southern through and through. And the lightly plumed helmet he held under his arm indicated he was an officer of some sort. Not very high ranking, but certainly higher than a regular soldier. They both walked over, cleaning their swords and looking right triumphant in their rough metal armour.

"Finally awake, milord?" The younger one jeered, standing in front of him.

Markus shot them a look that said death, and spat out, "What are you doing in my lands, in my home, you dogs?"

"Dogs!" snorted the elder, pulling on his thin and graying beard. "You're the dog now. You and all your Hittite kind. Your's wasn't the only lands to be attacked last night."

"We conquered you once before, we'll do it again. Cowards who come by night are hardly fit to be lords of the land." Markus kept up his haughty words, but his quick mind had already filled in what had happened. These were probably the only men left in the house. The Captain of the band would have already gone on to join with the main army, and these two would have been left to guard him. Later, once all the cities had been taken, they would swing back around and pick him up, either making an example of him by slaughtering him in front of the villagers, or ransoming him. He wondered they hadn't killed him right off, but reasoned they thought he was to great a lord to die so quietly. The leader of these Southern's had made a fatal error, leaving a guard of only three weak men for one such as himself.

"We have plans for you," said the younger one, coming forward and kicking Markus soundly in the gut. "Many plans for you, Markus Calaway." He gripped Markus chin, and forced his head up some, hoping to see defeat in his eyes. Markus spat in his face instantly. "Damnable Hittite!" He screamed, landing a punch on Markus lip that busted it wide open. He glared at his elder wildly for a moment, "I'll be back, Assinius!" and stormed off. The green eyed boy raced after him, calling his name softly.

Laughing brown eyes settled on Markus, and the old warrior laughed. "Aulus's youth gives him a temper." he said laughingly, before sobering up. "and Matthew is too soft for his own good." and The red-haired Hittite glared Daggers at Assinius. It angered him to no end that they could beat him, and he couldn't defend himself. i'Calmly./i' he thought i'I can't loose my head, now look for a chance.'/i and as quickly as he

cooled his mind, his chance came. When he had sat up, he had leaned against a wall for balance. Well, he'd thought it was a wall. It was actually a grate, which let air circulate freely in the house. Something had gone through it in the night, and parts of it were twisted and sharp. His hands were at the moment behind him, so when Assinius turned to drinking about a half and hour later, he began the tedious work of cutting through the thick cords. The old man was throughly drunken by the time the rope frayed enough for him to break them, and then untie his legs. Assinius never saw the well-aimed javelin that stuck him in the back. Marcus stumbled over to him, cutting off his cries with a hand over his mouth.

"Plans for me, eh?" he grunted, and grabbing the javelin, twisted it suddenly, and tore the mans spinal column all to bits. Markus released him, and he fell to the floor with a small cry. He wiped his hands on his leggings, and took a deep breath, placing a hand on a table for support. What a horrible mess he'd gotten into. "Now where are those two runts?" He whispered, grabbing once again the javelin out of Assinius' back. He walked out where he had seen the two of them run off, and found the boy sleeping peacefully on a bench in the garden. Aulus was standing against the railing, looking out over the land. Markus normally wouldn't want to kill a man unarmed, but this was personal. He had come unto his land, destroyed his home, killed his slaves. This man had death written all over him. Squinting one eye, he heaved the javelin and it caught Aulus in the lower neck, and he died much quicker than his elder companion. He did however, give a squeal of terror, which awoke the sleeping boy. He jerked up quickly, and Markus got a good look at his shimmering green eyes. He was sure this boy was not Southern born, and it stunned him long enough for the boy to have time to gather his wits and race off into the night.

Markus reacted a second later, yelling after the boy and starting to run after him. His body though, failed him. Blood pumped put of his lacerations and streamed down his side, and Markus found himself to weak to give chase. "And don't come back!" he yelled, giving up. He turned around, and walked back inside his house. "What am I doing here?" he asked himself. The seasoned warrior thought for a second he was losing his edge. There was no real reason to go back to his belongings; he needed to find other Hittite's to band up with, and fast. But something kept him from going to the stables to look for a horse. But his mind was so muddled, he couldn't think what it was.  
Limping, he looked with anger at the charred remnants of his once glorious home. It was in shambles, probably never to be repaired or replaced. But that was not the worst of it. His slaves were dead, that much he could guess, as was his black Mastiff, Xerces, whom he had raised from a pup. Markus saw his great black body laid out of the ground, a circle of dead Southurn's around him. The sleek ebony colored fur of the canine mixed with the drying blood of the men on the marble floor. Markus stopped for a moment, "You did well, my friend." he looked up from the body in sadness, and down a long hallway, in front of him. There, he saw the door to his chambers hanging ajar. A sharp intake of breath was his reaction as he realized what he was forgetting. Cursing, he struggled through the seas of bodies, blood, and his possessions to get back to his room, only one person one his mind. He burst into the room yelling. "Sarai! SARAI?" What he saw very nearly stopped his heart. He tender kindhearted Sarai was slumped on the floor, and she was covered in blood. He rushed over, dropping to his knees despite the pain, and took her slim form up on his lap, clutching her to his muscular chest. They had taken the one thing he loved most, the one thing that kept his dark and violent rages in check. His wife of many years, Sarai. Excruciating pain, worse than any the seasoned warrior had ever felt pulsed in his chest. He buried his face in her hair, kissed her nose, and cried into her neck as he hugged her and rocked himself in agony. "Sarai!" he wailed, his great voice echoing throughout the house. Markus was the only living thing for miles and miles. They had taken his wealth, his power, his slaves, worst of all, his love. But what they had given him was anger and darkness far worse than anything anyone had ever seen. The giant of a man sat like that for probably hours, crying until he had no more tears, and then simply shaking and wailing to the gods. Eventually fatigue, hunger, and pain tore him from her corpse. Saddened green eyes rested on the little house-hold image of the goddess Astarte, mother of all the gods; The great one. Her pure white statue had been knocked off the rich pedestal on which it had been set, and the base was slightly cracked. Not even thinking, he gingerly picked up the image and set it on a chunk of stone from something the men had destroyed. "How could you?" He asked with a voice filled with the deepest disgust. He crawled back over to his wife's body, taking it up against his own, Sarai's form was dwarfed by his massive one as he clutched it in agonistic mourning.

Eventually Markus fell into a deep, but not undisturbed sleep. Images of blood and cackling men haunted him, until a lithe, shining white figure appeared, to block out everything else. "Sarai?" he whispered, but it was not she. It was a goddess. Astarte, the greatest of them all no less. "I am your arch-goddess, Astarte. I come to you now in your dreams. You called me from my kingdom of the stars. What is it you want, Markus?" Astarte's soft but commanding voice filled his dream, and his mind.

"You took my wife from me, Astarte." he said bitterly. He didn't fall to his knees, bow his head, or even avert his eyes. The widower looked straight at the most high goddess, and found she was not so great as his Sarai. Aye, she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, but looks could never make up for love, and gentleness, and al the other virtues Sarai had possessed. "We were faithful to you, sacrificed only the most perfect bulls, we always attended the ceremonies held by the high priests. We followed all your commandments, Astarte," he sighed tiredly, "and now this?"

"Markus, is that all?" She asked drily. "Women die everyday, it is but natural."

Markus's face contorted in rage. "Natural, Natural! This was not inatural/i, this was murder!" Sarai was not ijust/i a woman! She was perfect, she was his wife. How Astarte could not see that confounded him. But he forced himself to keep his peace. This was a goddess, after all. "Grant me a boon, Astarte. Bring back Sarai from the realm of the dead. It was not her time to die."

Astarte felt, rather than saw, Markus's anger. She glanced at him reproachfully, and continued. "All you have said is true, you have always been a good servant." Astarte got a thoughtful look on her face, and pursed her perfect, rosy red lips in thought for a moment. "I will grant your request, but you must first do something for me." she said finally, "Go now to Tyre, and slay a man for me. He goes by the name of Kain. Slay him, and I will speak with the fates about the life of your wife."

"Lady Astarte, how will I find him?" asked Markus eagerly, as his heart filled with a new hope.

"You will know him as the masked man. He is your size, and your nearly equal in strength. It will be a challenge, but you have the Great goddess Astarte on your side." Her image began to fade, and Markus looked down. "I will lady, I will slay him." As he said this, he awoke from his dream. Sarai's body had been moved to the bed, and her gown was again white as snow. Markus got to his feet, holding his sides because they had yet to be stitched. But he looked down, and realized his wounds had been cleaned and bandaged. "Thank you Goddess." he whispered. Then, he jogged out to the terrace, and slipped on the rough metal armour of the Aulus, and took his helmet under his arm, followed by the vambraces Aulus had worn around his wrists. They were ill-fitting, but his armour was gone, and he had a feeling he might need it. To his great joy, he found his ancient sword was still hidden away safely, and he strapped it to his side. After a little searching, he barely managed to find a half-torn bag, and some food that looked partially edible. Every cent he'd had though, was gone. Tyre was three days' journey, so he would just have to scrounge food from the land. Placing a soft kiss on Sarai's cold dead lips, he limped out of his once beautiful home, turning his eyes from the sight of his slave children hanging naked and bloody by the entrance to his once great home.

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It was almost sunset, when Marcus passed reached the outside edge of his neighbors's lands; and Marcus was glad he'd had his maid-servants plait his long red hair into a braid the day before. It was hot and windy. He'd been trudging through the forest for hours, and his wounds pained him. It was to dangerous to travel by the roads. He'd found that out the first hour of his journey. It seemed his house was not the only one that had been attacked during the night. From all directions, he'd seen smoke rising, from the houses of other Lords of the land. Men who had been his friends, and allies. He suspected they were now dead. But aside from that, roving bands of Southern's were frequent sites now, with their long black locks, and rusty metal armor. He'd seen them on the roads, and quickly opted for the long walk through the forest. His many horses, when he'd checked up in the stables on them, were either dead or gone. Now he was in an awful plight, a three day walk to a distant city, looking for a man he did not know, or care about. Normally, he wouldn't have just gone about killing men who had done him no harm, but this was different, this was for Sarai. For Sarai, he would slaughter a thousand innocent men. For Sarai, he would become a terrifyingly grim harbinger of death to this one called Kain. With this thought, he struggled on, wondering to what end he would come.

Two and a-half days later, he found that Tyre was visible on the horizon. The rough stone towers and walls of the great city sprang up out of the ground like small mountains. The forest had thinned, and no longer could Marcus hide in it. He decided to try the road, hoping that with his Southern armor, and a little acting, he could pass for a Southern making his way with a message for a general, or something like that. His act worked, all to well. A battalion of Southern soldiers were fast approaching, and the Captain called a halt when they came apon him."Why are you out here all alone?" asked the raven-bearded, swarthy man with a hint of distrust.

Marcus held his head high, and spoke, "I have a message for the General, important news from the King himself. I must not be detained." His tone was that of a man who thought himself high and mighty. He thought if he could convince the Captain he really did have a message, he might be safe.

The gruff man studied him for a moment, and then nodded. He didn't want to get in trouble for delaying a messenger, especially in a time of war. "Alright," he said, albeit slowly. "Carry on your message then." as a sudden after thought, he added. "Why not ride with us? We have extra horses, it will be faster,"

Marcus knew at once he could not refuse the offer. It would be impolite, and would make the man even more suspicious. But if he stayed with them, there was more chance of him being found out. "Ah, er," he struggled for words, and then gave in. "I should like that very much. I will let the King know of your courtesy, Sir, and you will be rewarded." The captain gave an uppity grin, and motioned to one of his men. A horse was brought to him, a great ebony male, and he mounted up. For the next couple hours, he traded un-easy small talk with the soldiers, a foreboding worry that he would be caught forever nagging at the back of his mind. Strangely enough though, he wasn't. The Southern's were feeling cocky because they thought they had beaten the Hittite's, and were careless because of it. When they finally arrived at Tyre, it was in shambles. Apparently, the city had been taken during the night as well, and a great number of it's population were face-down in the streets at that very moment. As they marched through the streets, the Batallion Marcus was riding with joined up with several other parties of soldiers. Marcus was called to the front, where the Leaders of the different groups were all gathered.

"So, what his this message you have for the General?" Asked one barrel-chested captain amiably. He was a short, but stout looking man.

Marcus at once knew they only wanted to the know the contents of his 'message' for their own personal gain. He inwardly snarled. The General must have been a foolish man, he thought, to appoint such men as this to lead.

"I cannot say, I am sworn to secrecy by my Lord King, and by the Gods."

"Oh come now," Another man protested, "what is a little exchange of knowledge, among loyal servants of Astarte?"

"I am sorry, I will not divulge any information to you, milords."

Marcus sensed their patience was beginning to wear thin. Before too long, he expected a bribe to be offered. And one of the Leaders seemed about to do just that, when a horn was sounded, and all at once, several horsemen raced up to them, a small boy in their midst.

"The Calaway dog has escaped," said a young man on horseback breathlessly. In one fluid motion, he swept himself off of his steed, and motioned for the others to do the same. "We went to round him up, and we found Aulus dead, Milords, along with several others. We found ihim/i sulking in the shadows." He pushed forward a young boy as he said him. The dirty, tired looking teenager's green eyes cast about wildy, and Markus' own eyes widened. He lowered his head suddenly, inching his way to the back of the group. "Tell them what happened," said the man, pushing Matthew forward.

Matthew searched the group of Captain's and leader for a kind face, and his eyes settled on Markus's face. "HIM!" he said suddenly, "Calaway!" The men all instantly turned to stare and Markus.

"What do you mean, boy?" asked the barrel chested man, staring at Markus with raising eyebrows, and a hand tensing in the hilt of his sword. Matthew lowered his head in shame, cheeks flaming. "What do you mean?" they asked louder.

"That is the Calaway." Matthew mumbled, "I saw him escape."

"Are you sure?" One of the captains asked, but the rest of them weren't standing around to find out. Several of them began closing in on him, cutting off all chances of escape.

"Yes sir," Matthew said, now staring intently at the floor, as if he felt remorse for what he'd done. "That's him."

"GET HIM!" All the men shouted at once, rapidly closing in the circle, swords and spears beared. The last thing Markus heard was somebodies voice shouting. "Don't kill him men, the King wants him alive." Then, as had happed at his house a few days ago, he felt a sharp pain in his head just as he fell to his knees, his world going black.

Markus awoke in a cold, dank cell. It was a perfect square. A stone wall on one side, and metal bars on the other three. Rough hewn stone floors, with a handful of soiled hay for a homey touch. Groaning, he rolled over, slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position. His head throbbed, his back was aching, his knees were sore. And he was in prison. Could things get any worse? "Ah, Astarte." he grimaced through his pain, "how can I carry out your wishes like this? You must guide me, Goddess." He recalled to his mind her promise that she was on his side, and took heart.

He heard a scuffling from the cell next to him, and through the darkness, he could just make out a hulking form, huddled next to the bars of his cell. "Astarte never helped me much in a fix," he said almost laughingly. "So they got you too?" he asked.

"Yes," Markus studied him quickly, but wasn't able to see much. There was something strange about his voice, but he thought he'd caught a glimpse of reddish hair, and guessed he was a fellow Hittite, or a ally of the Hittite's. "I was captured earli...what's today, anyway?"

"Don't know." the stranger shrugged. "Its always cold and dark in here. I've lost track of days. After a while, you learn to count your meals instead of counting time."

A small smile lighted on Markus' face. At least he had a friend in prison to lighten things up. This man seemed nice enough. He had an air about him that exuded an easy-going friendliness that was sure to draw people in. "Let's hope we get out before I start doing ithat/i" Markus joked.

"Yeah," The other man put one of his hands on the bar, and Markus thought he could see a smile, but his face was still mostly hidden by the darkness. He could see that, like himself, this man was of considerable size and strength.

"What is your name?" asked the masked man amiably.

"Markus Calaway, the Hittite."

"Ah, I've heard of you; they say you are a great warrior among your people. I am neither Hittite, nor Southurn, and my name is Kain."

"Kain?" Markus asked, a hint of apprehension in his tone of voice.

"Yes, Kain."

"Nice to meet you, Sir Kain."

"Please, just call me Kain, Markus." Kain moved forward to offer Markus a hand through the bars, and in the dim light of the jail cell, Markus could make out dark curls, and a leather mask, covering Kain's upper face. It was the moment of truth; and it seemed the whole world stopped all that it was doing in anticipation for what would happen next. But before Markus could react, two guards came bustling in through a wooden door, throwing it open and letting light spill into the dank prison. Suddenly, everything sped up again, and Markus was caught up in it all. They seemed to just be making their rounds, walking up and down the rows of cells and inspecting each one, checking up on the poisoners, it seemed. But he stopped in front of Kain's cell, giving not a glance towards Markus.

"You, masked thing," The shorter guard said gruffly, but Markus slowly stood up, painstakingly moving closer to the side of his cage closest to the walk way, closer to the guards. Standing, Markus was at least a foot and a half taller than this guard, and considerably stronger. He didn't speak a word, just glared down at the soldier with stormy green eyes. Markus could see fear in the other mans eyes. Fear of Markus, and certainly fear of Kain. Who was Kain? And why did Astarte want him dead? Markus wondered, glancing between the two men.

The guard stuttered in terror for a moment, gazing up at Markus and losing all coherent thought. T'was as if he was the prisoner, and Markus the jailer, instead of the other way 'round. After a moment, the other man standing just behind him kicked him in the back of the leg, as if to tell him to carry out his business. He collected his wits, though his pride was in tatters. "Ahem...You, Kain, You're to be questioned again. You'll come with me now."

Kain turned to shoot a pained smile at Markus, the light now fully illuminating his hidden face. "Well friend, it seems I'm to be subjected to another bout of their 'questioning' as they call it." He stood up, and Markus realized that Astarte hadn't been lying when she'd said Kain was his size. The man was one of the few who could rival his height.

Kain grinned at the astonished look on Markus's face. "Thought you were the biggest guy around, huh?"

"Ahem," The guard cleared his throat once again, attempting to look scary. Kain scoffed, holding up his hands in mock submission, and slowly walking out of his cell, the other guard who hadn't spoken holding a spear to his back the entire way. They exited, and the door slammed shut with a resounding thud, plunging them all once again into a world of darkness.

Markus slowly backed up against the only solid wall in his cell, sliding down it until his was sitting on the floor, his long legs bent in front of him. He furrowed his brow, massaging his temples, deep in thought. "What grudge does Astarte hold against Kain that she wants him dead? What as he ever done to her?" he wondered aloud, seeing as most of the other prisoners were to delusional to listen in. "Can I do it? Take an innocent mans life, for my own selfish intentions?" Markus sat leaned up against the cold cell, a cold sweat beading on his forehead. Markus looked down at his hands, which he'd set palm upward on his knees. He examined them throughly, as if this was the first time he'd ever seen them. His bare hands. He would have to kill Kain with his bare hands. He'd woken up without his armour, or his sword. The guards must have confiscated them while he was knocked out. He took his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees, his large form curling in slightly, as thoughts ran rampant through his head.

Suddenly, a soft tapping on the bars of his cage jolted him from his stupor. Markus looked up, his green eyes locking with eyes of the same color. "What do YOU want?" he spat, standing up roughly and instantly regretting it.

"I um..."

"Spit it out, traitor."

"I'm not a traitor!" the boy finally exploded. "I was just startled! I never meant to do that to you."

"Sure you didn't," scoffed Markus, glaring at Matthew, the little halfie who'd made it known to the enemy who he really was. He leaned heavily on the bars to his left, clutching his hand into a fist to avoid groaning in pain. "I'm to trust you, after you get me captured, stuck in this pit which the very gods have probably forsaken?"

"Kain trusts me." Matthew said sullenly, now staring at the floor.

Markus stopped, hunting for words to say. How did this boy know that Kain was in the jail as well?

"Kain was the one who told me I wasn't all southern." Matthew said quietly, "He came to out to our army base just to tell me that, and ended up being captured. I was raised believing I was a Southern, and I was a part of the southern army. That's why I was in the party that attacked your home-but by then I had realized who I really was, and I didn't want to."

"Why didn't you tell me then, instead of running like a coward?" Markus growled, clenching his teeth.

"I was going to, but I was so afraid. You're very...very intimidating. You would have killed me before I got that chance."

"Now I wish I had." Markus sighed, feeling that if the boy had been dead, he wouldn't have been caught. But then again, if he hadn't been caught, he wouldn't have met up with Kain. The injured man growled. It was all so confusing! Should he be furious and distrustful, or thankful to Matthew? he wouldn't have trusted the boy, except that he'd mentioned Kain. Normally, it took one years of hard work to earn Markus's trust, but Kain had that rare, easy-going aura that inspired trust in people near him. Kain had managed to do in minutes what greater men had failed to do in decades. He'd earned the trust and respect of one Markus Calaway; lord of Hittites, and slayer of many.

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Markus sat in silence for a long while, sorting through his seemingly endless stream of thoughts, Trying to make some sense of the jumble. Several times, Matthew made a move to speak, and Markus shushed him with a steely glare. He couldn't answer right now; with his temper he'd say something rash a ruin the whole situation. Finally, Matthew sighed, brushing his black hair back out of his eyes. Mumbling something, he got up and shuffled out of the prison, back to where it was he'd come.

Kain was ushered in a while later, and Markus realized what Kain had said was true. It was nearly impossible to keep track of the passage of time in that dark, cold place. Had he been gone minutes? Hours? Markus himself could not tell. The masked man was thrown into his cell with a thud, landing on his side. Once the guards had left, he slowly pushed himself up off the rank smelling floor, leaning up against the stone wall, one knee laying against the metal bars.

"Kain," Markus whispered, "Kain, are you well?" Markus asked a little louder when he got no response from the fallen giant.

Kain opened his dark eyes and slowly turned his head to look at Markus. "Oh yeah," He said, his voice forced and stiff. "Nothing I can't handle."

Markus snorted. He was accustomed to the prideful ways of a warrior, being he was one himself. Men were not apt to admit pain or weakness, no matter how bad the hurt. He shrugged, figuring Kain would be fine. He couldn't see any open wounds or bruises on the man, but then again, he could barely see him at all. His mind ran through the possibilities of what they had done to Kain, and he settled on less than savory thoughts. Suddenly, the words of the little traitor popped into his head. i'Kain trusts me..'/i

"Do you . . . Do you know a boy called Matthew?" He questioned slowly, tentatively.

"Matthew?" Kain asked, lighting up slightly. He had one hand pressed to his side, as if it pained him, but continued. "Little timid boy, black hair?"

"That's him. He paid me a visit earlier."

"He's a good boy. Part Hittite, too." Kain said, shifting his position so he could look more comfortably at Markus. "He's actually the reason I'm in here. I went to his base camp, and I was caught before I could get out. He-" Kain stopped here, his breath consumed by a fit of coughing. The sound grated on Markus's ears, and he winced slightly. Were there internal injuries causing that? Suddenly Markus realized that he was worried about the welfare of a man he'd promised to kill. He looked at the floor, fixing his gaze upon it, and determined to harden his heart as much as he could.

After a moment, Kain's horrible hacking fit ceased. He caught his breath, and continued slowly. "He felt so bad; he brings me food whenever he's let off duty. But the real thing he brings me, is company." Kain reached out, and grasped the bars separating he and Markus with one hand, pain evident in his face, though Markus could barely make it out in the dim light. "It gets so lonely here, and Matthew's been my friend through it all."

"How can you do it?" Markus asked incrediously.

"Do what?"

"Stand to be around that boy, after all the pain he's caused you?"

Kain sighed, looking at the other man in the eyes, as if asking Markus if he really wanted to know. "It wasn't his fault. Besides, I am forever indebted to his Father."

Markus raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall in a gesture that suggested Kain continue his story. Kain did, his voice low but clear. "I'm an Egyptian, Markus, but I was not raised with the Egyptian teachings. I was raised in Hittite country. Matthew's father raised me. My mother was an Egyptian slave, and when I was still an infant, Pharaoh thought he needed to thin out the slaves. He sent out an order for all children less than two years of age to be thrown into the River Nile. My mother couldn't let that happen. Matthew's father, Jacob was passing through, -a goods trader - she caught his attention, and gave me to him. I don't know what possessed that man to take me in, but he did. He raised me as his own, and I soon became a captain in his army. Matthew was an . . . an illegitimate son of his. Matthew's mother was a full-blooded Southern. She made out like she loved him, then as soon as he was old enough, sent him away to war. Matthew's father died not three months ago. I was his most trusted warrior, like a son to him. On his deathbed he asked me to tell Matthew that he was really part Hittite, not just some lowly southern boy whose mother sent him off as soon as she had the chance."

"You are truly an honorable warrior then," Markus said. There was no questioning what Kain had said. Not even the worst villain would tell a lie like that. It was too serious, too personal. One did not joke about death and ancestors, for great fear the Gods would strike them down. The thought did not even cross his mind. "You are telling me so much about yourself, are you sure you do not mind?"

"No." Kain smiled, "It helps pass the time. I have been so lonely in here, with nothing but the rats to keep me company. Besides," his smile faded, and his gaze traveled to the floor. "It helps keep my mind off the pain."

Markus looked him up and down once more, in alarm. He'd become attached to Kain so quickly, it hurt him to think of his friend in pain. He could think of plenty more questions to ask him, then . . . "Well then Kain, if you do not mind my asking . . . why, why do you wear the mask?"

"When I was still a boy, I wandered into the temple when the shrine we had for Astarte was kept. We were burning sacrificial bulls that day. And I wandered to close to the flames. I was badly burned."

"So when you said Astarte never helped you . . . you meant it?"

"I did. Astarte is not my people's goddess. She took away from me a chance at a normal childhood. I do not serve her."

Markus took in a deep breath. Kain refused to serve Astarte? Perhaps that was why she'd wanted him dead. But it seemed to him that was not good enough a reason for a kind man such as this to lose his life. "Your people?" He asked again, knowing that Kain was neither Hittite nor Southern, but something entirely different.

"They are the Egyptians." Kain answered. "I may not have been raised by them, but I know their culture. After I was burned, I did as much research as I could into the old Egyptian gods. One night, one of them came to me in my dreams. His name was Moloch, and it is he whom I now follow." Kain looked down, as though he was blushing under his leather mask. "I know it sounds foolish to say a God thought enough of a mere man to come to him in his dreams, but . . . "

"No." Markus reassured Kain, a strange, faraway look in his eyes. "I understand, more than you think." Silence hung in the air a moment, each man pondering what the other had said. Markus looked over at Kain, and forced a smile. "Would you might if I caught some shut-eye?"

"Not at all; Sleep, my friend." Kain replied. He squirmed his way away from the side of the cage closest to Markus, Laying down in a small clump of hay. Markus slouched down against the wall, half sitting, half laying down. He himself was also sitting amongst small bits of hay. But the dried stalks did little to prevent the cold of the prison from seeping into his body, making him shiver. It was as though the cold had worked its way into his very bones, and it intended to stay there. At first, Markus had no intention of sleeping. He just wanted to sit and sort out his thoughts in silence, something he seemed to be doing a lot lately. His mind raced with thoughts of his wife, and his pledge to Astarte, and most of all, his newfound friendship in Kain. He was so lost, so very lost. Markus shot a quick look at the man whose life he had swore to take, the man who had shown him nothing but kindness. He was sleeping, or so it seemed. Markus found himself with a weak half-smile on his lips. At least Kain could not feel pain in his sleep. He half-wished Kain would have a visit from his God Moloch. Gods knew, Kain needed all the faith he could get. Being locked away in a tomb-like cell could do terrible things to a man's belief.

"I could do with an audience myself, Astarte." Markus whispered quietly. Truth be told, he was distraught. A visit from the Goddess he found, would have been most helpful. Closing his eyes, he tried to call her forth in his mind, but she did not show herself to him. Markus discovered once his eyes were closed, he didn't seem to want to open them. A terrible weight seemed to settle on his heart. He had been so busy, Sarai had barely been in his thoughts of late. He was on a mission to bring her back, but all the recent events had kept his grief tucked away in a corner of his mind. Now that all was quiet, rage and sadness came rushing back in a wave of despair that over took his entire being. Eyes closed tightly, he silently sobbed for his lost wife. In the dazed and confused state of mind that he was in, it did not take long for him to fall into a sound sleep. Or, as soundly as one could with aching wounds, and empty stomach, and a troubled heart.

A while later, he knew not how long, a voice disrupted his troubled slumber. "Calaway! Kain!" The insistent voice kept calling. "Calaway? Markus!"

He wished the voice would just go away, but when it didn't, he opened cloudy green eyes, focusing his glares at a black haired boy who was calling his name. "What?" he croaked, his voice horribly scratchy because of his crying the night before.

"I bring you food. But you will not get any if you do not wake. Kain is a horrible glutton." Matthew said, glaring at Kain evilly.

"Ay!" Kain scowled. "After all I did for him," he turned to grin at Markus. "listen to how he treats me."

"I treat you fine, and you know it." Matthew smiled, eyes twinkling.

Markus slowly groaned, pushing himself up off the cold stone floor. He ached all over, but it was hard to stay in a bad mood for very long with Kain and Matthew in such high spirits as they were. He eyed the food which Matthew had brought. In a little basket, Markus could see fresh bread and cheese, salted pork, and a flask of wine. Kain, he could see, had already raided the stash of dates. "Hand that food this-a-away, boy." he ordered, taking the basket from the boy as he handed it through the bars of the cage. His stomach rumbled loudly. When was the last time he had eaten? Before he had joined up with the battalion. Two days, at least. His hunger made him more apt to trust the boy, as he dug into the food and started scarfing it down.

"And he called ME a glutton!" Kain joked, staring as if awe-inspired at

how fast Markus was shoveling down food. "I never thought I'd find a man who could out-eat me."

"Aye. You just," Markus said between bites of food, "met your match."

The three continued their light banter all through the meal, which did not last all that long thanks to Markus. By the end of it, Markus had eaten his fill, and was in considerably higher spirits. His attitude towards Matthew, had as well taken a drastic change. After Kain had told him about the boys past, he saw him in a knew light, despite the fact that he still held some animosity towards the boy for his capture.

Finally, once the two had eaten their fill, and Matthew had filled them in with the news of the day, Matthew gathered up what he had brought, and left, with a smile and a wave to not only Kain, but Markus as well. As soon as he'd left, Kain looked lazily to Markus and smiled knowingly. "Now, Matthew is not that bad, is he?"

"No. For a half-breed, he is alright."

"I thought you'd change your mind." Kain said, settling into a corner. Small bits of useless talk passed between the two men for several more minutes, until Kain finally looked as if he was about to drift off to sleep.

"How often does he come?" Markus asked suddenly, his voice tearing through the disturbed quiet of the prison.

"Huh? What?" Kain answered, his mind cloudy from fatigue. "Oh, Matthew? He comes every other day or so, but I have a feeling he be back sooner than normal, now that he's made another friend."

"Who said I was his friend?" Markus grumbled at the assumption, squinting one eye.

Kain just smirked at him, turned on his side, and pointedly closed his eyes.

Markus and Kain's days passed slowly in the dank excuse for a prison, their lives lightened only by frequent visits from Matthew. Days soon turned into weeks, and before long, autumn had already passed by. Markus's nights were spent in mourning of his wife, and his days were no better, save for the time he got to spend with Matthew. He had rapidly grown fond of the little green-eyed lad, with his courteous ways and quiet demeanor, the boy won over his heart in a matter of weeks.

Old man Winter came upon them in a flurry of snow and ice, temperatures in their abode dropping drastically. One by one, other prisoners were slowly growing weak, a few of them even succumbing to death. At that moment, death didn't sound so bad to Markus, for he was sick and wearied of his imprisonment. One day, when he had lost all track of time and space, and sat lifelessly against the ice-coated wall of his cell, two unfamiliar guards tramped in. "Accursed snow," he heard one guard mutter under his breath. "I thought it would be warmer in here, but it's just as cold!"

"Aye, could even be colder," said his comrade, a young man who looked to be around thirties. His hair was braided back, flowing into a long tail that ran down his shoulders. The man who had spoken first looked to be about ten years older, and was rough looking, missing several teeth, and having a generally grizzled appearance.

"Well, let's deliver that message," said the younger one with a shiver. His fair cheeks were flushed with red, and his rosy lips were chapped and blue. Markus immediately took a dislike to him. He looked like a green lad who had been pampered all his life, and would rather be poncing about in a field sipping wine and trading gossip, than defend his people. Markus had to respect loyalty, to matter which side it came from.

They trudged over to stand in front of Markus's cell, standing tall and proud in their southurn armor. Markus noted that where before the armour of the Southurns had been rough hewn and crude, it was now smooth and shiny. He took this as a sign that the Hittites had indeed been defeated, since new armour meant the Southurn's must have settled in enough to have set up blacksmith's shops.

"Ahoy there. Be you Markus Calaway?" one of them asked with a deliberately neutral voice.

Markus moved his green eyes up to look at them from where he sat, not moving his head nor anything else. He blinked his lifeless green eyes once, as if to shake off some stupor that he had fallen into. After a moment, he slowly stood up, and finally answered their question. "I am." his deep rumbling voice echoed through the freezing halls.

The soldiers exchanged glances with each other, wondering if he had gone insane being locked up for so long. The elder, obliviously having a sense of duty, cleared his throat and spoke up with dignity. "The King has decided to hold a trial for you. This is an official proclamation. In one weeks time, you will be escorted to the royal palace and tried for treason."

Markus, regaining his mind, raised an eyebrow. "And I needed to know this why?"

"Erm," the guards fumbled for a response, looking very put out. "Tis custom, for a prisoner to be given fair warning." He explained, speaking slowly, as though he himself were not sure his answer was correct.

"Well, I had already guessed I was to be given a hearing. I suppose it willn't be fair though, will it? Your tyrant king's already decided how I shall die, hasn't he?" Markus voice was colder than steel, but his words were laced with a venom that shook the guards to their bones. "It's just a mock trial. I'll be murdered in cold blood just like my wife."

"I don't know anything about your lady, Calaway." The younger one fished for words, trying to keep control of the situation. The elder just shook his head. He was a wise old man, accustomed to the ways of royalty. "Come along Akan." he said, nodding to Markus. "We've done our job." Stamping their feet and rubbing their hands together for warmth, the two guards walked out of the prison, but Kain, who had been silently listening all the while, caught the last bits of their conversation.

"Is what the Hittite says true?" He heard a higher voice say, presumably Akan. "Is his fate really already decided?"

"Of course it is boy. The Hittite will die, no question about it." Kain's face contorted with rage for his friend, and he scooted closer to the bars to listen as the men's voices got fainter as they began to walk away from the jail.

"But the affairs of state and lord are not for us to meddle in. The King has his ways. I do not envy the prisoner though. The General is sore with him. It will not be an easy or quick death he meets"  
The voices faded away, and Kain slouched back, stunned. He opened his mouth, looked to Markus, who had once again slumped down to the ground, and closed it once again, in speechless horror. Death? Markus was to be put to death? It had always been a looming threat, but when forced to think about it as a possible future for his friend, it made him sick to his stomach.

The next morning, Matthew came bumbling in to visit his imprisoned friends, a cherry note in his voice. Despite the frigid temperatures, Matthew wore only a light over-coat, which hardly protected him from the elements. "Hello, my friends," he called, tapping on Markus' bars. The man was slumping in the same position he had been in when Kain had looked at him the night before; eyes closed, slumped against the wall, head bowed as if in defeat. Matthew looked at Kain, who stood next to the bars and shrugged helplessly. The boy frowned, getting a determined look. "Markus, wake up, you great oaf!" he teased, rapping on the bars loudly, and causing other prisoners to protest with an assortment of curses and groans. "I brought food, and I know you want some. Awake!"

Markus stirred, grumbling deep in his chest. He raised his head, and opened one bleary green eye to glare at Matthew. The cold assaulted him anew, and he cursed the wintery season. "You're too cheeky for your own good, boy." But now that he had company, it was impossible for him to return to his depressed state. Matthew only came once every few days, and his visits were the highlights of prison life. "But it's nice,"

"Aye, of course it's nice. Without me, you'd be skin and bones." Matthew joked, passing a small basket through the bars to Kain first, who passed it to Markus after taking out a handful of dates, dried meat, and a swig of ale. Markus replied only with a grunt, before digging into his food. It was the first real meal he had eaten in three days; for that was how long it had been since Matthew's last visit. They were given meager rations from the prison guards, and though Markus and Kain were doing better with the help of Matthew's food, they were still much skinnier than they should have been. There was no denying the fact that they were, if not skin and bones, just a couple meals away from it.

There was a dull light in Markus's eyes, were previously there had been a shining, glimmering fire. His long months had not broken him, but they had sunk him into a deep depression, weakened his passionate zeal for the Gods and for his murdered people. Matthew and Kain could not help but notice his degenerating state, and comment on it."Markus, what is the matter?" Matthew asked, kneeling down by the bars and staring at the bigger man with concerned green eyes. "What is troubling you?"

"Nothing, boy." Markus returned in his gruff way. "There's nothing bothering me except being stuck in this damnable place."

"Ah! I meant to tell you something..." Matthew said, jumping up. But Kain interrupted him with a groan of his own. "Markus, you damned liar." he growled, glaring at his friend, and whirling on Matthew with a frenzied look in his eyes Markus had never detected before. "They're taking him away! They're going to kill him, and all he can do is sit around and pretend he doesn't care."

Matthew's sparkling eyes opened wider than Markus had ever seen them, but he shrugged it off and focused his eyes on the ground, slouching down. "Markus, is this true?" he heard Matthew ask. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? You can't let them do this to you. Kain and I won't let them kill you, we just won't."

Matthews voice started to waver, and Markus knew he was close to tears. He looked up at Matthew, and saw them brimming, unshed in his eyes. He felt a rush of anger. Matthew was the one who was afraid? He was going to be murdered, without having completed his mission to get his wife's life back. Markus was going to DIE, and he hadn't done anything about it. There was nothing to be done, in his mind. "You're going to protect me? You and Kain can't do anything. Just accept the facts, you ignorant boy. You can do nothing to help me now. No one can." Markus's voice was a mass of rage and scorn, emotions he wore to hide his reluctance to face death.

"But I can do something!" Matthew said, kicking the metal bars in frustration at Markus's stubborn attitude. "That's what I was trying to tell you before Kain interrupted me. I've worked it all out; you can be freed." He waved his hands expressively, forgetting his sorrow, caught up in the intensity of the moment.

Silence reigned supreme for a brief second of suspense, and finally, Kain was the first to speak. "You...you can get us out of here... how?"

"I've been planning to for a long while, but the timing has never been right. The day after Mass is the perfect chance. The King is coming to Tyre, and there will be a royal parade in his honor. All the guards will be at the parade, and I'm off duty that day. The crowds will be enormous, so we can escape with ease."

Now it was Markus's turn to speak. "You've planned all this? Just for us?" He stood up for the first time since the night before, and limped to the cage door. His hands were shaking from cold as he clapped them on the boys shoulders through the bars. "For us? You'd risk your life for us?"

Matthew looked at Markus like he had grown four arms and turned blue.

The look of utter shock on the boy's face expressed better his feelings than his forceful words ever could. "Of course I would...you, you damned fool. How can you ask such a thing?" He took a deep breath and huffed, exasperated with the thick-headedness of his friends on the subject of his loyalty to them. "Both of you, get some rest. And stop acting like that." He glared at Kain, who was standing in silence, and at Markus, who was stuttering for words. "I'll be back Monday morn."

"No. Matthew, It's to dangerous. You could never pull it off. We'll..we'll figure something else out. Just..drop the plan. We can't risk losing you over a rashly thought-out plan. We don't want you getting killed." Kain said softly, reaching through the bars to ruffle the boys hair.

Matthew stepped back, green eyes flashing. "You don't see me outside of prison. You don't know what I can do." He said with a hint of hurt, as if their reactions had ruffled his feathers. "I WILL be back Monday just after dawn, and we WILL get out of this city." His words were firm, but bitter. And then blew out of the place as quickly as he had come, out of the icey prison and into the near-blizzard once again.

"What do you think?" Kain asked Markus, after the both of them had stared wide-eyed at the door for more than a minute.

"I think we've underestimated the boy. Vastly underestimated." Markus returned, back-pedaling to lean against the wall, and pressed a blistered, cracked palm to his head. This time, he wasn't leaning on the wall for support because of fatigue or weakness. For the first time in months, he felt strong and refreshed, as if a veil of sickness had been lifted from his person. Perhaps the news of his eminent release had given his mind the push of hope it needed to get his body functioning again. For once, Markus actually had a desire besides the recovery of Sarai.

"I agree, Markus. Only I think, Matthew is a boy no longer. Freeing prisoners is a man's work." Said Kain, his voice thick and serious, as it always was. Yet this time, there was a hint of bittersweet joy in his lyrics. It seemed he deemed Matthew ready for the title of a man, but he didn't want to lose the boy. Markus saw that Kain loved the boy as a son.

"A man indeed." Markus said, turning his thoughtful green eyes on the doorway that Matthew had used on his exit.  
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The few days between then and Monday passed with a torturous pace for Kain and Markus. The two prisoners were itching for the day to come, when the King would visit the city, and they would be given the chance to escape. Markus and Kain bickered and fought after two days had passed, their tempers snapping under the weight of time they were orced to endure. Matthew did not make a further appearance after the day he had told them of his plan, and that only caused them more worry. Finally, Monday morning rolled around. And, as had become the custom since they had been told, Kain and Markus were again arguing.

"Will you just shut up, Markus?" Was the first shout of the morning. Markus and Kain had been having a heated discussion, and it was billowing into a full grown fight. The other prisoners groaned and rolled over, being that it was just after dawn, and early for them. They had already become accustomed to the frequent yelling matches between the two strange men, but were still annoyed by them.

"Why should I, you great blowhard?" Blasted Markus, his face reddening.

"I'M a blowhard? I'm not the one who has the irresistible urge to pester the guards every time they come near!" Kain spat back with venom, his voice bitter.

"What! I do no such thing!" Markus bellowed incredulously, waving his hands and pacing around agitatedly.

"Yes you do, you damned ox. Every time they make their rounds, you're the only one that gives them trouble, calling them out and yelling at them the whole way through. This is the fifth time you've cost us our meal, the FIFTH time, Markus."

"Well, I'm not the one who tried to drive Matthew's plans into the ground, now am I?" Markus said with a furious glare. "That's probably why the boy hasn't come back around. Maybe he'll just leave us here to rot, because of your idiotic words!"

"MY words?" Kain yelled, slamming his fist on the steel bars. "My words? Why don't you just shut your enormous pie-hole, and do something other than eat, and lay blame, for once?"

"I'll show you something else I can do!" Markus roared, reaching through the bars that separated them and grabbing Kain roughly by the collar of his tattered and worn shirt. It was patched, and had huge holes in numerous places. It was barely hanging on Kain's frame as it was, and as Markus's rough treatment of the fragile garment did nothing to help it, and it ripped further. Rearing back, he balled his fist and made ready to punch Kain, when a scratching voice of a boy just coming out of puberty met both their ears.

"Kain, Markus," Matthew half-laughed, "I'm surprised at you two. Fighting, already? I can't leave you two alone anymore. Just a few days without me, and you're read to tear each other to bits."

Kain broke into a goofy grin, and shrugged out of Markus' grip, which had been loosened considerably by the appearance of Matthew. Markus too, no longer had the urge to fight. No real animosity was held between Markus and Kain. Fights were inevitable, when two people were stuck in such close quarters for so long. The added stress and tension in the air around their freedom only served to make matters worse, and give both the men an short, easily irritable temper. The excitement that had been building during their wait had finally come to terms, and their short tempers had been settled by the fulfillment of their expectations; Matthew had arrived.

"Well?" Markus asked with an air of expectancy, the fight already completely forgotten.

"Well what?"

"Well are you going to get us out of here?" Kain broke into the conversation, glaring at Matthew lightly. "Are you intentionally trying to torture us with the suspense?"

"I should think you two deserve it, after what happened earlier in the week." Matthew said in a mock-offended tone. It was clear he had mostly gotten over their dispute, but was dead set to prove them wrong anyway.

Kain and Markus both exchanged knowing glances, lowering their heads sheepishly. "We apologize..." Kain began, "For being of so little faith." Markus finished, each of them in a serious tone.

Matthew seemed pleased with the answer. He clapped his hands together with glee. "That'll do fine. Are you two ready to see the surface again?" He joked, eliciting pained frowns from Kain and Markus.

Matthew laughed, forgetting their dispute earlier in the week entirely. "I thought so." He said, then ran to the door of the prison, looking up and around, and then hurrying back to them. "The Guards have all left, but one, and he is a poor guard. He'd rather drink himself to sleep on wine than take his rounds. He'll be no trouble. It's early yet, anyhow. I doubt he's even awake." Matthew continued, puttering around the long line of cells filled with sleeping prisoners. He disappeared 'round the bend for a few minutes, and Markus and Kain watched in anxious silence for signs of his returning. Moments later, Matthew's light form was visible, as he trotted down the hallway once more to stand in front of their respective cages. On his pointer finger, he twirled a of set huge, rusted keys on a loop. "I scouted out the keys earlier." he said with pride. "And the guard was sleeping, the fat coward."

Kain and Markus both shuffled their feet and coughed as quietly as possible, both on edge. The air of danger was thick in the chilly atmosphere. They were afraid they would be caught, and lose their only chance at freedom, at life. "Hurry up, Matthew." Markus hissed, calling him by his real name instead of the usual 'boy' Matthew grinned widely and stepped forward, deliberately starting on Kain's cage first. There were at least twenty of the keys, and Matthew had to try, it seemed, everyone of them before he found the on that fit, stuffing each key into the rusted keyhole and fighting to turn them. Finally, Matthew stepped back, and slowly swung the door of Kain's metal hell open, grimacing at the protesting creak it gave. Kain stood in the door way for a second, as if hesitant to take the step that would free him. Raising his foot, he slowly placed it outside the cage, and took one small step, and then quickly gained confidence and jumped completely away from the cage. His face was alight with sheer joy.

"Free! Free Markus!" He whispered loudly, almost in a normal tone of voice. "I almost forgot what it felt like." He said quiter, after Markus had shushed him with a stare. Matthew stepped over to Markus's cage, where the man was pacing like a restless panther, fierce green eyes blazing at Matthew as the boy purposely took his time picking out a key. What seemed like an eternity later, Matthew had gone through almost half the keys when he heard a crash from the direction of the Guards' quarters. He looked up sharply in surprise.

Wh...what was that?" Kain questioned in alarm.

"I don't know. And I don't want to find out. Hurry, boy!"

This time, Matthew did as he was bade and sped up the pace, finally finding Markus' key; a smallish one with what once had been elaborate designs on the handle. Markus barely waited for the door to open all the way, bounding out of his long-time dwelling with eagerness. He did a little jig, capering around and clapping Kain on the shoulders, forgetting the danger that took the form of the guard in the next room.

"We did it Kain! We're free!" He said, much, much louder than the voice Kain had used when he had been freed. This time, rustling noises could clearly be heard in the next room.

"Markus!" Matthew snapped. "Are you trying to seal our fate? Be silent!"

But it was too late. They saw the shadow of the Guard coming down the hall way. There was only one way in, and one way out of the prison, and their freedom lay directly in the path of the guard.

"Damn it." Kain cursed. "Quick Markus, back in the cells. Perhaps we can still fool him."

"No. I won't ever go back in there. I'll die first." Markus replied with an adamant tone, just as the guard's body became visible in the hall. Time was running out. a couple more seconds was all they had before they were discovered.

"Markus, PLEASE! This is no time for your pride." Kain begged, just as the guard caught sight of them and set toward them running.

"No Kain."

"Then what-"

"RUN! Dammit, run!" Matthew burst in.

The guard was covering the distance between them fast, despite his size. Middle aged, balding, and overweight, the man pounded down the hall, sword brandished. He was armed to the teeth as well. Besides his sword, he has on heavy armor, a short sword, and a few daggers. At least, that was all they could glimpse at the moment. He probably had still more weapons concealed on his person. The veteran minds of Kain and Markus quickly deducted that in their weakened state, they could not take on a heavily armed man barehanded. And so, going against their instincts, they took Matthew's word to heart and set off at a blistering pace, in the only direction possible; toward the guard. They watched in silent horror as he raised a horn to his lips, and while running, gave it a fearsome blast, trumpeting the notes of alarm that were recognized by all in Tyre. Markus cursed, coming upon the man just seconds after he had made the fatal warning call. He struck the man down with a harsh backhand without thinking, and continued running past him. There was nothing for it now; the Southern's were sure to respond to the call of the horn. He glanced behind him, once he passed the man and reached the doorway to freedom. Matthew had slipped past the guard and was coming up beside him, but Kain was limping along, just behind them, with the Guard close on his heels.

"Kain! Hurry!" Matthew called anxiously.

Markus already guessed what had happened, from the way his friend was clutching his side. He ran over, and literately picked his friend up, tossing him over his massive shoulders in a feat of amazing might, lent to him simply by the adrenaline running through his veins.

"COME ON!" He blasted, running back up to Matthew, and forcefully shoving him through the doorway to what they hoped was freedom. "Run!" Matthew caught himself, close to falling, and then set off out of the doorway, and into a street that was fast filling with villagers, come to see what the call of the horn had been about. Markus ran off after Matthew, Kain still on his shoulders. They immediately caught attention from the crowd, and the people surged forward, their shouts of excitement lifting in a cry for the guards. Markus grabbed Matthew by the collar and yanked him along, wading through the crowd, clearing a path with stares and shoves. Suddenly, there was the answering call of another horn, and then another.

"It's to late," Kain said, exhausted. "They're here."

Guards began to pile in, filtering through the crowd, unaware of what they were looking for exactly. The crowds noise rose to a fever pitch as they yelled and pointed to the escaping prisoners, still wading through the huge crowd that had gathered. Markus and Matthew finally made it to the edge of the crowd, and ducked off into a darkened ally way. IN the streets, the hubbub continued, as the guards, now informed on whom they were searching for, realized they had disappeared.

"We'll never make it out alive." Kain said, as Markus dumped him off his shoulders and unto the ground, then stooped to catch his breath.

"This is all my fault," Matthew said, cowering beside the two huge men. "I've sealed out fates."

"I would have died anyway." Markus said painfully, "But let's not give in just yet. We can still escape. Come on. Let us see where this ally leads."

"Yes, Of course." Kain said, struggling to his feet, giving Markus a pointed stare.

Catching his drift, Markus shoved Matthew ahead of them. "Lead the way." Matthew nodded and began inching down the ally, scared to been seen by the guards rushing around just at the mouth of the alley. "Kain?" Markus asked in a whisper.

"The jailer. He had a sword." Kain grimaced, and touched his side lightly, as they picked up the pace. "I could not block one of his blows. I am wounded."

"Oh Kain..." Markus began, but he cut of his words abruptly. Shouts were suddenly coming from the end of the alley. Soldiers were coming there way. Markus didn't know how, but they had been spotted. He looked at Kain, and it came to him.

"Your mask!" He hissed. "The glare coming off it has given us away!"

Kain did not speak a word to him, just dug his hand into Matthew's shoulder and told him to run faster than he ever had before. "Run, Matthew. Your life depends on it."

Once again, the trio began to run. But Matthew was youthful and heathy. Markus and Kain, meanwhile, had been trapped in a dungeon for months. They were starved, and Kain was hurt. They stumbled, and almost fell, and the soldiers began to close in behind them. Suddenly, they lost sight of Matthew. His small frame was lost in the shadows of the dark back street, and the fevered gaze of the fugitives could not find his familiar form. Markus glanced behind him as he ran, and back to Kain. "They are to fast for us."

"I know. Good luck, my brother." Kain said with finality, suddenly stopping in his tracks, just as the guards caught up and engulfed him in a sea of swords and bodies. Markus continued running, not registering in his mind what Kain had done.

"GO!" He thought he heard Kain yell. Finally, he stopped. "Kain. You fool." he said, turning around. A couple of the guards had realized that there were more prisoners, and were now coming at Markus, fast and dangerous. Filled with an unholy rage, Markus swung at the first one, knocking him senseless and snatching away his sword. Grasping his newfound weapon firmly, he brushed past the other guards near him and plunged into the fray around where he had last seen Kain. Swinging senselessly, he brought down several of the guards. He couldn't remember the first fight he had ever been in, or the first time he had ever seen his own blood drawn in battle, but he saw it that day. One injured man against a dozen armed guards never had a chance in the world, even such a highly trained warrior as Markus. His mind far from his body, he saw blood running down his arms, his legs, his side, but could hardly feel the pain. One by one, the guards fell to his furious swings, but drop by drop, his blood and his power started to drain away. He saw the last guard fall, and finally looked up. There, standing just across the field of bodies, was Kain. The man who had called him Brother. He watched in a shocked horror as Kain slumped down, and then collapsed to the ground. Suddenly, everything sped back up, and Markus ran over the bodies with no remorse for the men, falling to his knees next to Kain.

"Kain, Kain, my friend." He said, finding it was extremely hard for him to speak. He took Kain's hand in his, and shuddered at the unnatural hue and feeling of cold on his skin.

"Mar-Markus." Kain sputtered, coughing up blood.

"Kain, are you okay?"

"D-do I l-look okay?" Kain shot back slowly, closing his eyes tiredly.

"I don't know. I can't see you under that mask." Markus joked half-heartedly, tears in his eyes. He felt his heart start to crumble, just looking at Kain's torn body. His words were punctuated with occasional sniffles and odd snorting noises made as he tried to supress his feelings.

Kain groaned and twisted on the floor, digging his nails into Markus's hand. "Markus, it h-hurts!" he screamed quietly. "Make it stop."

"I can't make it stop Kain. We have to get you to a doctor outside the city." Markus answered, knowing it was hopeless. He knew it was impossible. Two men, and one boy, trying to escape from the greatest city south of the West Basin? It was suicide. He shook his head, but still looked down at Kain. Maybe he was wrong, maybe they could still make it-"I need you to try and stand for me."-but he doubted it.

"I can't stand. I can't even f-feel my legss. Markus, you CAN make it sstop." Kain opened his eyes for one moment, looking up at Markus, his normally bright eyes dulled by the loss of blood he had sustained. One of his hands trailed to Markus's other hand, where he still held the sword he had taken from the soldier, still bright with blood. Feebly, he slid his fingers across the pommel of the sword. "You can." He said, his speech slurring. Suddenly. He clutched his side and literally screamed in agony. A sound Markus had heard only rarely. Men were proud. They almost never expressed their pain to others, especially prideful warriors such as himself and Kain. That was how Markus realized how much pain Kain was truly in. He would never have uttered even a whimper unless it was more than excruciating. And now he was screaming. Screaming.

"Markus! Oh, Gods. End it. End it now!"

Markus knew what Kain meant. He had seen it done many times on the battle-field; A mercy killing. Thoughts of Kain's death instantly brought to mind his pledge to Astarte...thoughts of his wife._ 'This is my chance,'_ He realized with a heart torn down the middle. _'I fulfill my promise to Astarte. I get my wife back. I satisfy my duty to my...my brother.'_ Markus, feeling the adrenaline in his veins start to drain out, was suddenly hit with a torturing pain himself. Finally, his wounds were catching up to him. He almost thought he couldn't move, but a nudge from Kain brought him back.

His friend was still on the ground, this time thrashing back and forth, his eyes rolled up in the back of his head. Markus' well-trained eye saw that there was no hope for him.

"I am sorry, Kain. May I suffer in Hades for my desires." Markus said, mustering all the strength he had left in his body and lifting the sword above his head. "But I love my wife. And I will have her back." He looked up to the sky, to where Astarte reigned.

"See, Astarte. I carry out your wishes." He stated in a ceremonial voice, adding as an afterthought. "And You, Moloch. Kain is Your follower. Bring him to Your side." Sniffling, he looked back down at the fevered face of his friend, and movement in the mouth of the alleyway caught his eye. The guards. More were coming. Filled now with a hurried sense of his duty, Markus began to bring the sword down, squeezing his eyes shut. Kain would never want to die a prisoner. Markus knew that much. Dying a free man was the least Markus could do with him.

"Forgive me." He whispered, filled with guilt at his hidden motive for following Kain's orders. With a mighty swing, he brought the sword down, and ended Kain's life, quickly and painlessly. A blade, right through the heart. Kain's eyes opened wide for a second, and his body spasmed madly once, before falling limp, to never move again. A fitting death for a mighty warrior. He who had lived by the sword, had died by the sword. And that was the last of Markus's strength. All of his wounds flared to life seemingly at once, and the sword slipped from his grip, and he to, collapsed to the dirty floor, succumbing to his wounds, and sinking into the world of unconsciousness.

Again, the same pure and shining figure came to him in his slumber. Astarte had returned to him, This time, he was not awed by her appearance. After long months of imprisonment, when she had not reached out or comforted him even once, he was not happy with her. He was also bitter at the loss of a dear friend. All he wanted was Sarai back, and alive again, so they could continued on with their lives.

"You have done well Marcus." Astarte said warmly, smiling benevolently and shimmering gently with an inner radiance as she walked over to him, her gait so smooth if gave the impression that she was floating instead of walking. Her soft white dress seemed to be almost made of mist. It was tangible, or so it looked, but then Markus would decide it was not, and then he would change his mind yet again. Obviously, it was not made of an earthly material.

"Yes, I did as you asked. Now send Sarai back to the realm of the living." Markus said, in his dream standing up stiffly, and taking a step back from the Goddess, wary of her.

"Are you sure that is what you want, Marcus?" She asked with a dry voice and a raising eyebrow. The Light that seemed to come form her dimming slightly. "Think for a second, my servant." She took care to emphasize the fact that she was a God, and he just a man.

Marcus narrowed his eyes at her as realized hit him. "I'm going to die, aren't I?" He stated, without a moment's hesitation. It had been a nagging thought in his mind, ever since he had been imprisoned, that Astarte would betray him. But he had never imagined that she would do it in this way...that she would take his life.

"Yes, Marcus." She came closer, placing one perfectly shaped, pale, white hand on the side of his rough, unshaven face. "You killed Kain, but he will still enjoy your death. Your wounds are deep." Her voice was rich and heady, and it tried to lure Markus into a false sense of loving peace. He could feel her tendrils of light trying to cloud his mind, but mentally built up a wall, envisioning placing each brick down to block out her influence. Markus had no idea how he knew how to block her out, but he did. Astarte seemed surprised too, for he suddenly felt her mentally pull back, and visibly, she paled.

"What about Your promise Astarte? I did as you asked, now hold up your end of the bargain!" He said, getting agitated. What was that he had just done? He had no clue, his focus was on living to see another day.

"You will be with Sarai again," Astarte said, removing her silky smooth hand from his face and stepping back. She was unsettled that he could resist her so easily, but put on a show, pretending that he had done nothing special. "But not in this world. You're dying Marcus. You will never wake from this slumber."

"But You can change that! You can bend the world to Your will, You are Astarte, you cannot break your word. Our bargain!" He cried. Marcus was still young and strong. He had many years ahead of him that would be rough, but they were better than this death. He had no wish to die now, he started to pace, finger the place where a sword should have been, hanging from a scabbard on his waist. For a moment, he thought he could feel the cold steel of the carved hilt between his fingers, but when he looked, there was no sword nor scabbard to be seen. Unnerved by this feeling, Markus' heart began to race. This place, this dream-world, was strange. He had know idea of how it worked, or of it's rules and limitations.

She grinned devilishly, and it was in that moment that he realized that the sweet, timid statues that depicted Astarte as a goddess of love and peace were very far off. She held no true love for humankind, except her love for toying with them. Like a greedy child loves treats, so she felt about humans. She may once have been a kind and loving God, but an eternity of always getting what she wanted had twisted her. She had seen peoples, cities, even civilizations come and go, and they had grown stale to her. To her, people would always be there, and thus, it did not matter if she betrayed, killed, destroyed a few of them. There would always be more.

"You just wanted to give me false hope, you used me to kill Kain for some reason of your own. He was good and pure. I saw it in his eyes as he lay dying! You never cared about my wife!" Markus screamed, going back and forth between anger over his wife, and anger over his friend. He was falling apart.

"A goddess can do whatever she wishes Marcus, including break her oaths. You are all my subjects, my play things. Just as you could do as you pleased with your slaves -wether it was to beat them, love them, or kill them- I may do just the same with humans. It will ruin my plans if you survive." her voice grew stern and hard, yet she sounded to Markus like a spoiled child who always got her way. "You have no say in the matter. You are only a toy. Be quiet now, and maybe I will let you see Sarai again." She crossed her arms and huffed in a childish manner. "Besides. I never said anything about your life. Just your wife's. I am following through on my end to the deal."

"No!" Marcus said suddenly, eyes blazing. Sarai would have no one without him. No one to protect her, no one to love her. She would be alone and lost in a cruel world that was suddenly hostile to their race. He wanted to live, and badly. In an effort to weasel his way out of death, he prodded further. "Why did you want me to kill Kain?"

"He was meddling in my affairs." The Goddess sniffed haughtily, as if that settled that.

"Then why didn't you take his life yourself?"Markus asked slowly, looking at her with narrowed eyes.

Astarte suddenly grew grim and looked down.

"Why?" He probed once more, a sneaking realization beginning to come into focus.

"He was under the protection of another. . . "

"Moloch." Markus said coldly, somehow knowing that it was the God Kain' had spoke of.

"Do not speak that name in my presence!" Astarte hissed. Markus widened his eyes and took a step back, shocked. Suddenly, Astarte's Light flared up and went out, and her porcelain face grew dark and lined. It was as if the mere mention of Moloch caused her grievance.

"Then Kain would have lived? His wounds would not have killed him?" Markus advanced, his voice growing heavy, demanding even. This new development of Astarte's clear hatred of Moloch intrigued him.

Astarte continued to sulk, and refused to answer his question, she crossed her arms, and looked away.

Markus interpreted her silence correctly. She was angry because she had been powerless to stop Moloch...but she did find a way around that. She had manipulated him. Markus had been swindled. He howled in rage. Then he had killed his friend for naught. Kain's wounds hadn't been life-threatening, as he had thought. "Then I killed him... for nothing?" He asked quietly, his voice more threatening than it would have been had he yelled the same question.

"Yes." she spat, hissing like a snake.

"No! No Astarte! this isn't right, this isn't fair! How could you lie to me this way? How could you betray so many years of loyalty?" Markus's voice was pleading, begging even. He was a mighty, strong warrior, but even the strongest must come to look death in the eye, and cower from it.

Astarte pouted. "This isn't right, that isn't right. Do you know how many times I hear that in a day? You humans are so selfish! And you, calling me a liar? I don't break my promises, Marcus. Perhaps..."

Markus' heart leaped. Was Astarte giving in? Perhaps she would change her mind. He jumped at the small flame of hope. "Good! Then bring Sarai back, like you said you would."

"Markus, Markus. You're missing the point." Astarte's voice was light and chiding, but one could hear a tone of sick enjoyment, if one cared to listen closely. "But oh well," She closed her eyes, and waved her hand a moment. Her black eyes met his expectant green ones. "There, Sarai is alive again."

Markus knew her heart had started to beat again before Astarte even told him. In this strange dream-world, his thoughts, focused on her, had some how linked him to Sarai. He knew the instant she started to breath again. Still wary of this strange power, he tried to blink it away, but could not help but grin hugely when he felt her spirit had returned to earth. His heart jumped, and for the first time since that fateful day that had changed his life, a burden was lifted.

Suddenly, Markus felt his strength failing, and Astarte's image started to fade. His small flame of hope that Astarte had changed her mind flickered. "Wait! What about me? Astarte, "

She grinned. "What about you?" and disappeared slowly from view.

Markus feel to his knees in his dream, his heart starting to slow. "Damn you to hell, Astarte," he grimaced, clutching his head. Death is a fear-filled experience, but it is even worse when you know it is coming and you can do nothing to stop it. Markus closed his eyes, and his dream stopped. Just like that, everything was black. He was back in the alley, and he could feel his body growing weaker by the second. He was coming back to reality, but he could still sense the lingering effects of the dream-world, and he knew Astarte was near, and listening. Just before he completely lost contact with her and the Dream-world, he said something that would stir the Goddess's heart to bitter thoughts. "You are not so great, Astarte."

He whispered. And that whisper Astarte heard and felt more clearly than when he had yelled, for into it he poured out his anger and hatred, alongside love and devotion, and terrible sorrow. "You are not so great." His voice was strained, but it rang true. "Sarai herself, was even greater than a goddess such as you, who cares nothing for her charges." He groaned, slumping to the ground, in his dream, and uttered the last words he would utter as a living, breathing human being in the Dream-world. "I will have my revenge, I will not rest..in..peace." Then he completely disconnected with it. His final, final moments, it seemed, would to spent in a dark alley way, all alone. . .

Markus's fingers twitched as he lay in immense pain, his eyes open but unseeing. There was no one around to do him the favor he had done for Kain, or so he thought. His mind was blank. He had given up. Astarte had preordained that he should die. He knew in his soul that he could do nothing but lie there and wait for death to take him. Slowly, a silhouetted form filtered into his pain filled mind. Brown hair, a thin frame, bright green eyes...Matthew.

"Ma...Matthew." Markus choked out, "Matthew." He heard footsteps come closer to him, and tried to focus on the figure that had come to stand in front of him, or better yet to move. He was unable to do either.

"I thought I heard a noise from over here." A rough voice called above him.

"No." another answered, this voice sounding older than the first. "Nothing survived this fight. Go and call the death wagon. We'll load up the fallen and give them a proper burial."

"And what of the prisoners?"

"We'll ask the general. Though I say, let 'em rot." The presumably older man made a noise that sounded like he was spitting out of disgust.

"Hmm, perhaps. Let's go then." The younger man agreed, and they shuffled off, random clanks and creaks growing quieter as they moved off to report their findings to their superiors.

Markus waited until he thought they were gone, and called out again. "Matthew!" Still no answer. Rallying his fading strength, he called out one last time. "MATTHEW!"

For some time, there was no reply, and then, Markus heard a faint cough, and the sounds of metal falling and scraping against metal. "Markus?" Croaked a young voice. More coughing, and then the sound of light, tapping footsteps against gravel reached Markus's ears. "Markus!"

Markus felt something touch his shoulder, and he roused. "Matthew? Is that you?" He tried to look up, but his vision still failed him. In the back of his mind, he knew what was happening. He had stopped feeling pain. He knew that was a bad sign. He was wounded to badly, he'd lost to much blood. His body was numb because it was shutting down. He was slowly dying. "I can't see, Matthew."

It must indeed have been Matthew, because he felt a pair of arms thrown 'round his neck, and a warm wind on his cheek as Matthew pressed close to him and spoke. "Oh Markus, this is all my fault. You are wounded, and I wasn't there to help."

"What h-happened to y-you?" Markus asked, biting his lip. He felt no anger towards Matthew. It hadn't been his fault. He'd only been trying to help. Astarte was the one to blame.

"I was running, and I realized you weren't behind me, and I turned around. I saw what was happening, and I ran back, but a Guard got to me first and clocked me over the scull with his sword. Knocked me clean out. Is Kain injured too?"

Markus did not answer, only turned his head away from where he thought Matthew was.

"Kain. Is Kain alright?" Matthew shoved his shoulder, making a spasm of pain leap through Markus's body. Not that Markus cared, at the moment.

"Matthew," He choked out between coughs, "Kain is d..dead."

"Dead?" Markus felt Matthew go stiff against him, and pull away. "Kain is not dead."

"Take a l-look around Matthew." Markus said sadly, his voice fading. He did not have much time, and he wanted to leave Matthew as a friend. "Matthew, I m-must tell you.."

But Matthew cut him off. He had caught sight of a leather-clad face just in front of Markus and leaping up, stumbled over, taking Kain's massive head in his lap. "K..Kain!" He sobbed.

Markus sighed weakly. He understood Matthew's pain at losing a longtime friend and mentor, but his time was growing nearer. "I'm so sorry Matthew, he was wounded beyond repair. But-"

"Damn it, Markus." Matthew cut him off, looking up from Kain's battered body. His eyes were filled and overflowing with tears, and it wrenched Markus's heart to see him like that. "How could you let this happen? How could you let him die?"

"I didn't l-let h-him die, I killed him."Markus had not intended to tell Matthew just HOW Kain had died, but now that he knew he himself would be passing on, nothing seemed much important anymore. He could already feel death creeping about his ankles, gently pulling on his soul. But above all, he felt pain, horrible pain. It was all he could do to choke out words, much less form them in his mind.

"What!" Matthew shot up, standing over Markus in a livid rage. "You _killed_ Kain? What the hell is wrong with you? I thought your were our friend! I'll kill you! You-"

Matthew continued to babble on, and Markus quietly interrupted him. "He asked me to Matthew. He was in pain." Markus stopped, rolling to the side slight coughed up blood, harsh coughs racking his body to the point where he could no longer move save from the occasional spasm from his fried nerve endings. "Things ha-have been set in motion, things which I can-cannot control. Go to my l-lands. Take c-care of Sarai." His breaths started coming in quick, hollow gasps. A feeling of panic began to set in, as he felt his lungs slowly begin to stop working. He forced it down, gasping painfully for breath. He _would_ get his final words out.

"Sarai? She's dead! You're delusional, Markus! We must get you help." Matthew protested through his tears. He moved away from Kain's body to kneel beside Markus. It scared Matthew, looking down on the man he had come to love and looking into his usually bright green eyes, as they stared back up at him, unseeing.

"N..No, I'm not, Matthew. I think for the first time, I'm se-seeing things cle-clearly. Take c-care of her." His voice was faint, fading. The pain escalated to a feeling of excruciating agony, that he had never felt before. Pain so staggering, so unbearable, it made even death seem easy. It clouded his mind, shot through his limbs, coursed in his blood. He was on fire with pain.

"No, Markus. You're being irrational. You'll be just fine." Matthew sniffed, placing a hand on Markus's chest.

"G-Good...bye, Ma...m-Matth-hew." Markus managed, his voice so low and rough Matthew had to lean down close to hear it. Markus took one last pained breath, and closed his eyes. His body went stiff as a rail for one moment, pain even worse than what he had felt coursing through his entire body, fire, fire, pain. Then it was gone. He was gone.

"Dammit Markus!" Matthew screamed, jumping up and kicking the fallen giant. He had felt a last puff of Markus' breath on his cheek as he'd come close to hear his words. He knew all to well what the meant, just exactly what a dying breath sounded like. "Get up!"

Markus did not move. Matthew knew that he was dead, and that there was nothing he could do about it. That did not stop him from raising the most wailing cry that has ever been heard. It was not very loud, or very long, but it was a sound to rend the heart right through the middle. The sound of a boy, losing all that he has, and realizing he must be a man. He gathered a handful of Markus's bloody shirt in one hand, and a fistful of Kain's hair in the other."It is done." Matthew whispered sadly. "I will do as you asked, Markus." He said quietly after a long time. He wished he could take the bodies with him, but it was not possible. The other guards would know of his treachery by now. He would be killed for treason if he was caught. Lightly he kissed the hand of the two fallen men, and got to his feet, making for the edges of the city. Sarai, he had to get to Sarai. Thoughts of her were the only thing that kept him from staying there to die with Markus and Kain, which was what he rather felt like doing. Tears ran down his cheeks freely as he left behind the two men he loved most dearly, to start a whole new life. A Hittite life.

That day, Markus Calaway died a most grievous death. For at his home, his beloved wife was alive and well, and awaited his return. She had no idea that he had lost his own life in his effort to restore hers. Of course, so great a warrior could not be felled by death, not when he had been betrayed by the Goddess he had worshiped so faithfully all his life had broken her promise; and not when his true love was all alone in the world.

That day, two great warriors were lost. Quite possibly the two greatest warriors this world has ever seen.

That day, a boy lost his innocence. He learned what it was to be a man, to die for those you love, to keep promises, and to make sacrifices. In fact, is childhood was sacrificed, lost for a friend.

That day, the downfall of Astarte was set in motion. The death of Markus and Kain signaled a turning point in the story of the world. It was the beginning of the end for the tyrant Goddess. But that is another story, for another time.

**And that's it! That's the end! The end at least, of this story. I hope you guys don't hate me...I didn't want to kill 'Taker. But I needed to. It was...I don't know. I just needed to let go. I had always planned to kill him at the end. This is not how I pictured his death, but, I like it better than what I had originally planned. T  
his story helped me through some rough times, helped me calmed down. I love this story, but I'm glad it's over. I feel so invigorated! I never thought I would finish a story this long. I started something, I worked my ass off for a long time, and I finished it. The feeling of pride and victory I get from this story is awesome.**

There will be a sequel, possibly even two. Maybe I'll just make this a trilogy. You guys have no idea what I have planned for the next sequel. It's gonna be amazing...and if I ever get to the second sequel, oh my god, you guys will love it.

But...I think I need to take a break from GTAG. I need some humor. But first, something for my soul. I've been agonizing over losing Eddie, and I've found writing is often just the way for me to let go. I need to do that, let him go. I've started and Eddie Guerrero tribute fic, and I intend to finish that before I go on to humor. For my own peace, and as a show of respect for Eddie


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